


Growing up a parent

by CasiopeanQueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Real World, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Depression, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:06:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasiopeanQueen/pseuds/CasiopeanQueen
Summary: John Winchester was a terrible parent but Dean thinks a lot of things are his fault, when they are not. Shit keeps happening to Dean and part of him thinks he deserves it, but part of him wants so badly to be free of guilt. He tries to escape the past but it keeps catching up to him in strange ways. A new job in a small town and no one knows where he is except Sam. But when people keep popping up from your past maybe it is a sign you have to face your problems. Being responsible and carrying around guilt are not mutually inclusive.NOTE I'll be working on this again as of May 2018





	1. Wandering on an open path of dreams

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ever and i have very little writing experience. I would love feedback :) I may add tags. I don't know where this story is going. I doubt i will have anyone die, but there might be mentions of Depression, ptsd, alcoholism, abandonment, self harm, suicidal thoughts and other less than lovely things. I want this story to have a happy ending but we will see where the words take me.  
> Y'all know I don't own shit. Cas & Dean's love is free in this world but the rights owned by Warner Bros.  
> That being said i survive on a diet of Coffee and encouragement, so please comment if you enjoy, have any thoughts about what i should add, or notice mistakes anywhere

Dean had a good life, and he was lucky. He believed that as much as he believed in his family, in as much as he believed things happened for a reason. But fuck. Fuck God or Fate or whatever the fuck was bringing on this rainstorm; he was going to get soaked and there was nothing he could do about it now. The first raindrops fell from the grey clouds rapidly advancing overhead, landing on the visor of his helmet, and soaking into the knees of his pants. The motorcycle chewed up the few remaining miles of highway between Dean’s home and the now hopeless interview that awaited him. 

This one was supposed to be the one, this was the job he was going to get, his ticket out of the great big fucking nowhere he was headed now. Straddling his bike, with the rain beginning to creep in along the gap between his helmet and jacket- collar, Dean seriously contemplated turning around. He could make it back home before his appointment at 8, call the manager of the coffee shop and come up with some ridiculous but feasible excuse as to why he couldn’t make it, why he was tied up but how it should not reflect upon his character.

No, cancelling was worse then showing up soaking wet. If Dean’s father had taught him anything in his 20 odd years, it was that showing up and taking responsibility for his mistakes was mandatory. And Dean would not give him any more reasons to call him a coward. He was almost there now, another few turns, but this freak rain storm was not letting him win. It came crashing down as he was 3 blocks away. Seeping into the green button up shirt he was wearing and prickling through the knees of his jeans like little needles. 

Taking the turns more carefully in the pouring rain, Dean could almost appreciate how beautiful the houses of this little town were. He had never been much for history, but when he’d started looking for jobs in the area Sam had gone on and on about how this little town was a beacon of natural beauty and historic elegance, and Dean had to admit Sam had not been wrong. Taking the last turn Dean pulled onto the main road. Little shops lined both sides, selling handmade artisanal shit that he had no interest in. Dean was not really interested in coffee either, beyond drinking it that was, but as he pulled up to the Carmenta Café he mentally prepared himself to be more enthusiastic about local artisan coffee than about his own sorry existence.

Putting on a smile and digging deep to find some modicum of hope, Dean walked his bike into a spot out front of the café. Shutting off his baby and flicking the kickstand out with his foot, Dean swung off and removed his helmet. Wet hair was not really going to ruin his chances any more than his soaked clothes Dean supposed. It was still 15 min to the hour, so grabbing his keys and helmet Dean headed towards the café entrance. Even from the street Dean could smell there was something delicious baking inside.

 

It was a nice little place. although clearly modern, the building had a relaxed, rustic feel. The large windows let warm light spill into the grey street. A few wooden tables and chairs out front dripped with the rain. A canopy was pulled back and rolled up by the lip of the building’s roof. Chuckling to himself Dean guessed that the café’s management also hadn’t’ been expecting the rain. Dean pulled open the wooden door and was met with the warm glow of the interior and an even stronger aroma of coffee and baked goods. 

On the far side of the room was a dark wood counter boasting a large selection of pastries and high-end espresso machines. Behind the counter was a` young dark-haired man working away at something out of view. He looked up at the sound of the door and Dean shot him a polite smile as he entered. To his right was a coatrack and between the door and counter was a small group of barstools clustered around a few high tables. 

Hooking his helmet onto the rack, Dean quickly shrugged out of his brown leather jacket and hung it on the rack just beside his helmet. Then, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes, he glanced around the small café again. It was quite a nice place, Dean had to admit. It wasn’t his kind of place, but the walls were decorated in photographs and each group of tables and chairs looked inviting. Compared to the other places he’d worked in his life, it couldn’t be worse. The tables were all wood, and many had a little plant or candle set in the center. The chairs were all upholstered in coordinating but different fabrics of florals and greys. Most people wouldn’t expect him to have noticed, but Dean had always been very observant, even if it didn’t matter. The color of the chairs didn’t really matter, only if he got the job. 

He walked around to the counter, eyeing up some apple tarts as he passed. The man behind the counter had dark hair and dark eyes, he couldn’t have been much younger than Dean himself, although he moved with a definite energy as he dried cheerfully colored mugs and placed them on hooks behind the bar. Dean caught the man’s eye as he walked, and the man put down the green mug he was drying and crossed to the closer side of the counter. “Welcome to the Carmenta Café, what can I get started for you?” The line had clearly been rehearsed a thousand times. Dean kept his friendly smile plastered on his face but inside he really wondered if he was cut out for customer service. Putting a little humor in his tone Dean replied “Yeah, I am actually here to see the manager for an interview, but I got caught in the rain just now, got soaked pretty bad. I was wondering if I could use the washroom, clean up a bit?” Dean could have sworn he saw the man’s eyes twinkle with amusement but than it was gone, and he directed Dean back behind the counter and to the right. Dean nodded his thanks and ducked inside the tiny bathroom. 

A tiny sink, mirror, and toilet all crammed inside a claustrophobically yellow room. Really there was nothing Dean could do now. His pants were soaked through from the knees to the shins, and water seeped into his shoes as well. The shirt was mostly dry thanks to his jacket, save for the collar of the shirt, which was dark with water. It could be mistaken as sweat too, and of all the jobs interview to sweat at, this was not the one. Not the job dealing with food. Grabbing a little paper towel from the stack beside the sink, Dean dabbed at his collar, but it did no good. Wiping his face and tossing the paper in the trash basket by the sink, Dean looked at himself in the mirror. Thanks to the rain his hair hung a little limp. The green eyes staring back at him were his own and they looked at him from his own face, but Dean would be lying if the person he saw in the mirror really looked like him. Or really felt like him for that matter. The reflection had his freckles, the freckles he got from his mom, and his eyes, and the dark circles under them too from too many sleepless nights. Shaking his head Dean put his smile back in place and exited the washroom. 

The dark-haired man was nowhere to be seen as he closed the washroom door behind him, but as he stepped into the main area of the café he saw the man sitting at one of the tables in the front of the bar. The small round table had 2 cups of coffee steaming on it, and the man sat on one of the bar stools studying some papers before him. When Dean got closer the he looked up and gestured to the seat opposite him, “Please, sit down. The coffee is for you, on the house.” Slipping into the seat across from him, Dean thanked him for the coffee. Dean honestly felt a little out of place, sitting before this guy who was barely more than a kid. The silence was uncomfortable, but he was reluctant to break it. There was still 10 minutes until his interview was supposed to start, but he was admittedly nervous. Would someone else show up, or maybe the manager couldn’t make it due to the rain? Perhaps this guy had been instructed to do the interview instead? 

Sipping the coffee Dean thought back to the few communications he had shared with the manager of the cafe. The application was online, Dean had sent in his resume and, after a week, received an email from this Castiel guy, the manager. Dean thought it was a pretty weird name, but then again, some Hippy parents named their kids all kinds of shit. The emails Dean had exchanged with Castiel were always very formal and short. They set up a date and time and Dean had shown up. And while no one else seemed to be here, Dean really couldn’t see this cheerful young guy writing emails signed ‘Cordially, Castiel Novak’. Who the heck uses the word Cordially? When Dean decided the moment had dragged on too long he cleared his throat and asked across the table, “So how long have you been working here?” The man’s dark blue eyes flicked up from the files he had been studying and he hummed for a second before he replied, “hmm’maybe 2 years 8 months or so.”

“That’s a pretty long time. Do you like it here?” Dean was trying to be conversational, but he was also a little surprised. Almost 3 years at a job seems like a long time for most teenagers, and Dean wouldn’t peg this guy anywhere past 20 at the most. And his slim frame and clean-shaven face didn’t do him any favors in the age department, even though he was pretty cute. Dean stops himself there. Enough of that. He should be over this by now. The man across the table didn’t respond right away, eyes still scanning the pages in front of him. At another time Dean would have been a bit offended, but he was too stressed as it was to be feeling anything else. So Dean ignored the fact that he was being ignored. Evidentially the man finished reading whatever he was reading because he looked up at Dean with a peaceful smile and answered “yes, it has been quite a while. Although it is not always easy work. It is what I enjoy. I am able to make this place my own, and the best experience it can be for our guests.” Dean was finally beginning to figure that this guy might actually be the manager when the man spoke again. “Sorry I believe I neglected to introduce myself before, I am Castiel Novak, manager of the Carmenta Café. You are, indeed, Dean Winchester?” 

“Ah, Yes that’s me.” Dean was almost taken aback at how much this guy’s, uh Castiel’s, appearance and manner were at odds with his speech. Ithe was like watching the words of a pompous old man slip out of the mouth of some scrawny guy Dean’s own age, and he didn’t really like it. Suddenly, the whole situation felt very awkward. Every second since he walked through the door dripping wet until now Dean had felt comfortable. Now, however, there was something about the way this guy looked at him that was making Dean uncertain, and not just because he has probably made a fool out of himself in front of the manager. It was uncomfortably clear to Dean that whoever this man was, he saw right through whatever bravado Dean had left. He didn't have time to ponder this however as Castiel is already talking again, 

“it says here you have one-year work experience at a bar called the Roadhouse? Tell me, what sort of position did you have during your time there? Did you find you worked well with the other staff?” Dean had to dig his nails into the palm of his hand to keep from grimacing, but he answered as cheerfully as he could “Yeah, the Roadhouse was a great place. Mostly I waited tables, but sometimes they had me in the back, mostly just flipping burgers. I also manned the bar a few nights a week. The people there, they are like family.” Those last words physically hurt. His chest tightens like it always does when he thinks about the Roadhouse, but he kept his smile in place. 

“Ah, I see.” Castiel replied, and then asked, “Do you have any other experience working in food services?” Dean felt distinctively like he was failing whatever test this was, and he didn’t like it. Screw hope, 'guess it is only there to let you down. “Nope, just what’s on my resume, man.” Dean didn’t mean to sound flippant, but he did anyway. Catching himself he tried to save whatever there could possibly be left in this interview worth saving, “I mean, mostly I’ve worked in manual labor: exterior painting, some construction jobs, stuff like that. But I’m trying to turn over a new chapter in my life. And, you know, I really enjoyed working at the Roadhouse. I mean I had to move on, but I really enjoyed the working environment.” It sounded like total bullshit to Dean’s ears but maybe Castiel won’t see how desperate he is. Somehow the manager seemed to buy it. There was an odd look in the other man’s eyes, but he moved on to more questions.

 

Questions about Dean’s other places of employment. About how flexible his schedule would be to cover extra shifts. About availability and the hours that he would be willing to work. The café would open at 6am every morning and close at 5pm. Dean knows he won't have any plans, so he tells Castiel that he would be available to work the opening shift every day of the week. Hopefully that will give him a better chance at the job. Finally, Castiel seemed to have gone through all his questions and sat back in his chair. The coffee has long gone cold, but Castiel siped his regardless as he fliped through what Dean now recognize as his resume and the staff schedule.

Hands fidgeting under the table, Dean decided to break the silence and get the hell out of this waste of time. He clears his throat “Thank you for taking the time to interview me. I, uh, really appreciated the opportunity. It was a pleasure to meet you, but I will get out of your hair now.” Castiel gave him a puzzled look at that, and, as Dean began to stand, he stretched a hand across the table, “Wait, Mr. Winchester. Please excuse me, I have failed to make myself clear yet again, I apologize. You may have the job. Would it be convenient for you to begin on the Thursday of this week?” Dean’s mouth hung open as he perched on the edge of his chair. After a second Dean found his voice and stammered out “wait, really? Shit, man, I totally thought I flubbed this interview?” He was floored, what kind of nut-job would hire him? Castiel seemed very amused by Deans confusion. Chuckling he said “Yes, well provided you do not cuss aloud at the customers I think you will be a fine addition to our staff. At this Dean flushed, “Jeez, Castiel, I am sorry. I did… I am just very shocked is all. I can keep it all PG and proper when I work, I promise.” With a nod Castiel replied, “I trust you will, Dean. Now, please be advised you must arrive 20 minutes before the 6am shift to open the cafe. Either I, or our baker Charlie will be working the shift with you. You work Thursday through Monday. On Sunday the Café opens at 9 am and closes at 4pm. You will work the day shift with one of our other employees, Ruby. Please note that there is no uniform, but you must be clean and dressed in closed toed shoes, long pants, and a shirt suitable to work in. Do you have any questions?” 

 

Dean’s brain was whirling but fumble out something that sounded like “yeah sounds good.” As what seemed as an afterthought Castiel added “there is parking at the rear of the café, you may store your bike in the shed to protect it from rain as you work. It appears it has gotten quite wet outside.” Dean smiled and stood up. He thanked Castiel in a bit of a daze and then went to fetch his jacket and helmet from rack at the door. Then he turned back around to where Castiel was gathering their coffee mugs off the table. Dean felt like he needed to say something, but he couldn’t find the words, so he simply said “Thank you, Castiel. I won’t let you down on this I promise.” To which Castiel simply smiled again and wished him a safe drive. 

Dean exited the Coffee shop to the morning sun bursting through the clouds and illuminating the rain-soaked town around him. The stores seem to be finally opening. As dean fetched a rag from the saddlebags of his bike and began wiping it down, he glanced back at the café. An open sign was now glowing in the window. As Dean did up his jacket, fastened his helmet and put the key in the ignition, the town seemed to slowly come to life and a few people began to filter towards the Carmenta Café. As Dean kicked the bike into life and stared home, he wondered if the café was a busy place on Sundays.


	2. My limbs betray me, ever needing breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who pointed out typos. Be well, 
> 
> <3 CQ

After the interview Dean returned to his tiny bachelor apartment. He had rented a place some few miles away from town. It was nothing fancy, just one room attached to the back of some older farm house, but it was home now. And as Dean pulled off onto the drive he smiled. 

The land around was no longer farmed, probably sold off to some housing development or another, but the farmhouse still had a large back yard. A white wooden fence divided the yard in half, and that there. That was Deans very own land, and he loved it. Growing up Dean had been used to moving from place to place, wherever John’s work took them. But Dean loved having a place to call his own more than anything in this world, apart from maybe his bike. 

Pulling into the driveway, Dean cut the engine and rolled his baby into the little shed by the side of his apartment. Grabbing his keys, he headed inside. Inside was nothing special. Dean could only afford rent and food, so in place of furniture he had some creative solutions. A foam mattress topper he’d snagged from the side of the road and cleaned up with the hose out back. Dean didn’t quite trust it and wrapped it in a few garbage bags to be safe, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. His duffel bag lay mostly unpacked and spread around the floor at the back of the room. 

To the left of the door was a kitchenette complete with a single frying pan abandoned by the previous occupants. The stove worked, but the microwave didn’t, to Dean’s great irritation. Stepping to the fridge he pulled out some vegetables: tomatoes, mushrooms, zucchini. Then filled the single pan with water. Pasta was pretty much the only food Dean had. He missed burgers, God. But for right now, all he could afford was pasta, and if he didn’t eat at least some vegetables Sam would probably loose his shit. 

Dean chopped the vegetables as the water began to boil, then he added the pasta and waited. Dean crossed the kitchen to the tiny sink; fished the single bowl, fork and spoon from the drying rack and moved them closer to the stove.  
For a few minutes Dean let himself mull over the days and weeks in his head. In the grand scheme of things today had been a God damn miracle. Dean was used to getting lucky. He’d gotten lucky when he found this apartment, cheap enough he could afford it and close enough to town and the city he could find work. Frankly, Dean had been pretty lucky he got away from his father without more than a few scratches after what he’d done, and he doubted John would ever forgive him for bailing like that. But did that even matter anymore? The Roadhouse had been the last straw for John, just like it had been the end of things for Dean.  
And Dean was lucky that he had gotten out of that too, even if he didn’t deserve it. Maybe there was some sort of cosmic shit out there that got a kick out of pulling Dean out of the literal and proverbial fire, just to watch him fall back in again. 

The hissing of the pot brought Dean back to reality. He turned it down before it boiled over entirely, then drained the water into the sink and spooned the pasta into his bowl. Throwing the vegetables in the pan with a bit of oil, Dean returned to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He figured he could use one after this morning.  
When the meal was finished Dean tossed the dirty dishes in the sink and headed out back. The sun was climbing overhead but the late morning air was still cool. He stripped off the green button-down he had worn to the interview and tossed it onto the old beige carpet before heading into his backyard. It was nothing pretty, just a few concrete flagstones and with grass growing too long, but Dean couldn’t get enough of it. He walked the length of the yard to the barbed wire fence at the back. A few tall birch trees stood along the line of the fence, but past them you could see the long grassy valley that stretched into the horizon. In the evening the sun would set along that ridge in the distance and turn the few lonesome trees into torches under its light. 

Dean’s only chair was out here, set on the uneven ground between two of the trees. The rickety white plastic was spotted with mildew, but Dean left it out because if he sat inside he would end up thinking. At least out here he could appreciate the sound of the insects that were rising in the spring heat, the warmth of the sun on his face and the wind in the trees overhead. It was almost peaceful enough that he could imagine life was all right. 

***  
By the time Wednesday rolled around Dean was getting itchy. Never in his life had he been so unoccupied with things to do and so over occupied by his thoughts. Over the last 3 days he had cleaned his apartment, borrowed the lawnmower from the family in the attached farmhouse, and tuned up every inch of his baby.  
Now it was 4 pm and in 14 short hours Dean was going to have to start his first shift at the café. But God, he would go now if that would give him something to do other than sit around and look pretty.  
What he wanted was to find a flat open country road and take his baby out in the beautiful May air, but without any money left over Dean was not sure he could afford to waste that much gas.  
Earlier that morning Dean had called up Sam, to check up on his baby brother but also to let him know that Dean had not died in a ditch somewhere. Sam had been thrilled to learn that Dean had actually gotten a job in Wolfgrove.  
Laughing Sam had said “Well sounds like next time Jess and I are in the neighborhood we ought to stop and grab some coffee.” 

“Yeah, well better hope I’m not the one making it Sammy because, shit, I don’t think I’ve ever had a fucking latte, and knowing me I might just fuck it up and poison you.” That had shut them both up for a moment before Sam spoke again.  
“Dean, you know Bobby doesn’t blame you, right? Dad might, but Christ man, it wasn’t your fault. It’s terrible don’t get me wrong, but Dean just because you were there doesn’t mean you are responsible. Sometimes shit happens.”  
The guilt felt like a punch to the gut and falling 12 stories all at the same time, like it usually did whenever he thought of Bobby.  
Dean swallowed, “listen, uh, Sammy I should go.” Dean cannot have this conversation. Not with Sam and not now. “Say Hey to Jess for me, and, uh, keep your head in the game. I’ll catch you later, man.” And before Sam could say any more or try and convince him that somehow things could still be made right, Dean hung up the phone. 

 

Fucking little brother, always trying to mediate everything. But Sam had always been the smart one. Maybe Dean was just too stupid to see where he was going wrong. But retrospect gives you 2020 vision and that was all the proof Dean needed to know he was a fuck up. 

And this is why he needed out of this God Damn apartment. Shaking his head Dean got up and crossed from the floor where he’d been sitting and headed for the door. He just needed to stretch his legs and do something. Dean hated running and he wasn’t about to go for a fucking jog unless he was in the business of being chased, but the day was clear and if Dean was moving then he wasn’t thinking. Sam was doing well down at Stanford, the giant nerd. He was happy and so Dean was happy, at least as long as he didn’t look back that was. So, Dean walked down the road, tiny rocks crunching under the soles of his shoes as he headed away from the farmhouse, away from the town and the highway, and into the fields. 

 

***  
Dean rolled out of bed like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. His heart was pounding and the fear was rising in his chest. And he knew immediately that this was not how he wanted to start the day. Hands shaking, he reached for the phone on the floor beside him. The dimly lit screen read 5:05, which fit with the grey light just creeping through the sky.  
Dean always knows it is a dream when it comes. A rare one these days, Thank God. But knowing something is fake doesn’t make it any better when the world goes dark and there is screaming all around you, but you can’t do anything to stop it. Pulling himself to his feet, Dean shuffled to the bathroom. Stripping off his sweat soaked shirt and the boxers he was wearing, he got into the shower and let the cool water run over his body, calming his racing heart. His hands have stopped shaking by the time he finishes rinsing the soap from his hair, but he still feels unclean. 

 

By 5:25 he is driving. The sky is clear today, no freak rain storms to contend with. The short stretch of highway between his apartment and the little town of Wolfgrove was like a silver snake slipping lazily across the hills in the pre-dawn light. Dean drives a little more quickly then he should, both to ensure he is early for the shift but also because the thrill of flying across the asphalt gives him peace. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it but it’s the little pleasures that count, right? 

 

A bell chiming the half hour rings dimly as he nears the town. The sound of the bike echoes off the old Victorian houses that line the streets. Their porches and embellished trim contrasting with the occasional modern home built up along the larger than average properties. Dean is almost at the Café now. The whole town is dead, save fore a bakery he passes as he turns the final corner. Dean revved the engine as he turned into a tiny alleyway along the left side of the shop. He pities whatever poor soul lives in the rooms above the café, because Dean had definitely woken them up with that. The brick walled alley would be too narrow for a car, but behind the building the ugliest car Dean had ever seen was parked up behind a shed. Another drive way exits the space, leading on to some parallel street, which is clearly how the ancient gold monstrosity got into this little yard. Dean cuts the engine and rolls the bike into the shed. Its nothing special, just a few posts and a tin roof, but Dean appreciates that Castiel was letting him use it. Or should I call him Mr. Novak, Dean wondered. It seemed odd to address someone so close to himself in age as Mr. but it didn’t matter today. Today he was working with some guy called Charlie. 

Heading back round the way he had come in, Dean notice that the little area behind the shop was actually quite nice. Some lilacs grew opposite the shed and there was what looked like a small planter by some steps leading to a back door. Dean didn’t know if that led to the shop or to apartments above. He walked back through the alley and up to the front door. It was locked. Fuck. Putting his hand to the glass Dean tried to get a peak inside, perhaps wave down someone inside to let him in. The chairs mostly rested on top of the tables or were tucked underneath them, making it hard to see across the café in the dark, but Dean saw someone moving around in the back. Rapping his knuckles on the glass a few times got him nowhere. And now, standing close to the window, he could hear the music going inside. Cussing under his breath Dean headed back around to the rear of the building, no choice but to see if he could get in that way. 

Two concrete steps led to a plain white door. Turning the knob Dean found himself in a cheerful blue vestibule. Ahead of him to his right rose a set of plain wooden steps that disappeared around a corner, and to his left the hallway continued to a door with a little sign that read Employees only: Carmenta Café. Dean figured he counted at this point and pushed open the door. Inside the sound of Bon Jovi’s voice echoed in the short hall. Dean walked past a few framed photos, flowers, a few old buildings crumbling in the wilderness. The hall opened up behind the espresso bar, and as Dean stepped into the light a short, red headed girl to his right shrieked and dropped the pitcher of milk she was holding into the sink in front of her.  
“Jesus Murphy way to give a girl a heart attack.” The milk she had been pouring was flowing away across the counter and onto the floor, “Fuck.”  
Grabbing a rag from her back pocket, the woman started wiping down the counter, catching the drips she could before they hit the floor. “Look man, sorry, we’re not open for another 15 minutes. Waaiit, ohh are you the new guy? You are aren’t you?”

Dean was kicking himself, shit of course Charlie was a girl’s name too. He felt completely useless standing there. “ Ah yeah, the names Dean. Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you. I, uh, knocked at the front but I didn’t see anyone so.”  
Interrupting him Charlie gushed “No, no its totally fine. I should have opened the door for you. Honestly, I totally forgot, I mean Castiel said you would be here on Thursday, but frankly I am so used to working solo these days that I kinda glossed over it. Hah, plus when the boss-man told me about you I figured you would be younger or something.” At this Charlie’s face flushed and she stuttered “Ah God, not that he said anything bad about you at all. He just kinda makes everyone around him feel so young. Not that he is grumpy or condescending, he is actually amazing to work for, but I mean if you don’t know him, which I guess you don’t really, he kinda seems all super – mature. He is an old soul, but he is actually a hilarious guy. And, uh, he said you didn’t have so much experience with coffee, but that you seemed really dependable, so yeah.”  
Dean actually laughed at that. Yeah, he figured he could give being dependable a shot. “No worries, yeah he seems like a good guy, but I get what you mean about him being older than he looks.” Reaching for the mop by the door, Dean started wiping down the milk that had escaped Charlie to land on the floor.

“I have a little bit of experience. I can take an order and man the till no problem, but I would really appreciate if you could give me a crash-course on the difference between a latte and a macchiato.” Charlie snorted, “Don’t worry man, by the time I am done you will be churning out quality coffee in no time! For the moment, though, would you pull out all the chairs at the front and wipe the tables? Each table gets a plant, they are all on a table in the corner. Rags are over there.” Charlie gestured with her elbow at the edge of the bar by the espresso machine. Nodding Dean headed over and found the small bucket of soapy water and a rag. Wringing out the cloth, he headed to the front of the shop.  
Dean set up and dusted off all the chairs, wiped down the tables and arranged a plant on each, and he even does it with time to spare before 6am. Charlie unlocked the door then, and that is when the real work began. According to Charlie the early hours are usually pretty quiet on a Thursday, but by 7am things are picking up and by 8 it is an absolute mad house. Dean mans the cash and clears dirty dishes while Charlie makes drink after drink. The baking had all been done earlier in the morning. Apparently, Charlie comes in at 5 am to do it all on weekdays, but Dean still has to run around and heat up a muffin here or a scone there if the customer asks for it. But luckily for Dean most of the orders are simple and caffeine based. 

The day passed Dean by in a blur. Charlie was done her shift at 11:30 and was replaced by a down right surly looking girl by the name of Meg. Meg arrived around 11am and covered for Dean while he slipped away for lunch. He honestly felt a little guilty grabbing lunch when Charlie had barely had a break all morning, but she assured him that this was her usual shift and she didn’t mind it one bit. Laughing she said “Castiel lets me take my break at the end of my shift so I can just check out for the day. Go drink your coffee, I don’t think I’ve seen you actually breathe since 7am!” 

And she wasn’t wrong. Dean had been so stuck on getting it all right that he must have looked like he was trying not to shit his pants all morning. But at least he had done it all with a smile. The Customer Service Smile was not Dean’s favorite part of the job, but after you got over the fact that you had to smile at the bitchy lady who didn’t understand why they had Soy milk but not almond milk, it almost made Dean feel better. And Dean knew that he had the kind of smile that would shut some people up and get him what he wanted, so he wasn’t about to let that skill go to waste.

Grabbing his coffee, one free drink per shift, Dean headed out back and leaned up against the shed. He just stood there for a few minutes breathing in the smell of the lilacs and the extra vanilla bean latte that Charlie had made a few minutes ago for a lady trying to have a phone conversation and order a coffee, while failing at both. He heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the alley along the side of the café. Glancing up he saw the thin build and the dark hair of the man from the interview, Castiel Novak. Shit, and here Dean was on his first day slouching around outside, Shit. He straitened up to fast as Castiel walked into the center of the yard. His hand slipped as he moved from leaning against the shed and, Fuck. Hot coffee sloshed over the side of his cup, running down his blue T-shirt and leaving a dark, burning stain. Son of a Bitch. Dean swore at himself, great impression to make on the boss Winchester. But from across the little yard Dean heard a chuckle. 

Castiel Novak’s voice was odd. Not just because when he spoke his words seemed slightly out of place, mostly it was his voice itself. Soft and gravely, but here full of humor.  
“Mr. Winchester, I could have sworn we talked about workplace language.” It was not an admonishment, but Dean’s face grew hot. Shit, he had said something aloud. Well weren’t things just going wonderfully.  
“Hey, Mr. Novak, how are you doing? And yes, I’m sorry. It will not happen again, don’t worry about it.” At this point Dean would be thrilled if the ground had opened up and swallowed him. He had never been good with Authority, but this young man put him on edge and now he was angry with himself on top of it all.  
“I will refrain from worrying then.” The dark haired man replied, “But please, call me Castiel. I want my employees to feel comfortable here.”  
Comfortable, huh. That was something that didn’t come to mind when he thought of Castiel. “Alright, Castiel it is. And call me Dean, uh, Mr. Winchester is my father, it’s kinda weird.”  
“Of Course,” Castiel had said as he closed the distance between them. “Now, Dean. You seem to have spilled some coffee. If you would come with me for a minute I can find you a clean shirt to wear.” 

Draining the remainder of his coffee Dean followed Castiel as he headed up the steps and into the little blue room by the door. Rather than heading into the rear of the café, however, Castiel lead Dean up the stairs to the landing at the top. Unlocking the door and swinging it wide, Castiel lead Dean into a small, brightly lit apartment. Dean realized that Castiel must live here above the cafe. Shit. 

Clearing his throat Dean turned to Castiel. He was kneeling in front of a small cupboard by the door. From his vantage, Dean could not see what the other man was rummaging around for, but he could see the lines of Castiel’s defined shoulders under the white T-shirt he was wearing. Dean opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He cleared his throat again just as Castiel seemed to find what he was looking for. Dean decided it was better to say this now than to not. 

“So, uh, this morning. I’m sorry if I woke you up with my bike. She can be pretty loud, and that alley there really makes the sound travel. So, yeah, I hope I didn’t startle you or anything. If you want me to park somewhere else or something I can?”  
Standing, Castiel produced a very yellow t- shirt emblazoned with the word Carmenta on it and held it out to Dean. Tentatively, Dean held up the shirt. It would fit but damn, it was a terrible shade of yellow.  
“Ah, thanks man.” Dean replied as Castiel shut the cupboard behind him. Turning Castiel said, “It is no trouble Dean, you may keep it. And as to your bike, I offered you the parking space well aware that you would be driving a motorcycle. I truly am not disturbed, so please park wherever you wish. Now, you and I both should return to the café. Charlie might not mind you running late, but as the boss I am told I need to set a good example.” Dean snorted, and with that both men returned downstairs.  
***  
By the end of his shift at 12:30 Dean was ready to drop. He had swung by the washroom to swap his stained shirt for the one Castiel had lent him, but after that the café had been slammed. The work had been the same, but with Castiel there Dean felt just a little on edge. Now that he was pulling out of Wolfgrove on his way home Dean could feel the exhaustion hitting him. Tomorrow would probably be more of the same, but at least this was something Dean could do. Maybe he really could put things behind him this time and move on.


	3. And although I walk with hope, it truly seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slow chapter, i feel the need to be a little boring before i get to interesting things. Apologies. Again, my proof reading is lacking, pls comment if you see issues, and just to give me moral support to continue :) Next chapter will be in cas' point of view, we will get an introduction to his past.  
> NOTE: i added tags after i posted this chapter tags include: Self harm, Depression, Alcoholism. Again more may be added as i develop Cas' & Dean' back story.  
> Love, Casiopean

Driving back in the afternoon sun was uncomfortably warm, despite the wind. By the time Dean had gotten back to his apartment, he was sweating and felt sticky from the days work. He was starving too. Being the idiot he was, Dean hadn’t eaten all day. And after his encounter with Castiel today, Dean had lost his appetite.

Pulling out the pan and turning on thee stove, Dean went through the motions, same as yesterday and the day before. He had run out of legitimate pasta sauce, but Dean wasn’t picky and the 2-liter bottle of ketchup he had bought was serving him well. Dean Scarfed down the make shift meal outside under the shade of the trees. He allowed himself a few minutes to relax before he headed back inside. Over the week he had acquired a small round table. It was well worn, the finish wearing off in the center, but it gave him somewhere to put Sam’s old laptop. He had found it, abandoned at the end of one of the long country drives. It had been a bit of a hike to carry it back, as it was too large to conveniently strap to his bike, but it made the place feel more livable. He had even moved his clothes to the small closet beside the bathroom. There had been a few hangers inside, enough for Dean to hang his shirts, but the rest of his clothes were draped across the bar in the closet itself. 

 

Tossing the dishes into the sink, Dean stripped off his clothes as he headed to the shower.  
The remainder of his shift had been good, if not relaxing. With Meg manning the till and Castiel making the drinks, Dean had been less sure of what to do. But he had cleared tables and washed dishes for a while. That was until Castiel had called him over and tried to teach him how to make a Latte. Dean got the idea: espresso, tamp it down but not too tight, twist it a little to attach it to the machine, let it run for about 30 seconds, or until the shot glass was full, Ta Da. Milk in the little pitcher, heat up the machine, let the steam run so it is super-hot when you get started, froth the milk. It was frothing the milk he had trouble with. The first time he had splashed milk all over the front of the machine. Wiping that up had slowed down the line a little bit, and some old dude in a suit had given Dean a look that had spelled out exactly how he felt, 'Jesus kid what are you doing here?' A few minutes later Castiel had let Dean try again. His espresso was fine, but Cas had said he could set the little jug down for a second and let it froth itself. But Dean had scalded the milk by accident and had to start again.  
Castiel, Dean reminded himself, not Cas.

Castiel had been really good about all of his fuckups today. Third time was the charm and when Dean had finally made his first proper Latte he’d been rewarded with a truly radiant smile from the blue-eyed man. Turning to Castiel, Dean had said something about learning to make some latte art next. Meg had nearly laughed her ass off at that, and not in an encouraging sort of way. Wheezing across the bar she had said “Damn it, Clarence, don’t let him near that machine, I want to have a life outside these 4 walls.”  
Dean had flushed at that. He really didn’t like Meg. She seemed to have it out for him and Dean couldn’t think of anything he had done to get on her bad side… Yet. If she didn’t stop, he might just come up with something. But Castiel seemed to think she was hilarious.

“Perhaps you are right. Dean, stand here and watch for a few minutes, you will get the hang of it.” “You know I’m always right darling.” Meg had crowed as she punched the next orders into the till. So Dean had spent the last few minutes of his shift drying dishes and watching Castiel. He watched how the man filled the filter-head full of espresso, how he gently tamped it down, his hands steady and delicate as he worked. The swift, deft movements of his wrists as he attached the portafilter to the body of the machine. Castiel’s eyes never seemed to leave the coffee at hand. And that was another thing that got to Dean. This man, with his dark eyes and his weird words and that humorous little smile that played at the corner of his mouth, what the heck was he doing managing a coffee shop. Dean might not know much about coffee, but he knew people. And Dean couldn’t explain for the life of him how this unassuming guy with his big blue eyes and expansive vocabulary got to running a shop like the Carmenta. 

Standing under the shower head, Dean tried to let all his worries from the day go. He tried to let it all wash off him down the drain. But that touchy-feely crap never worked for him. Instead he wandered the wasteland of his mind. He missed Sammy. He missed a lot of things in life, but Sammy had always been his fall back. If everything else was going to shit, if the world was falling down, Dean knew he would still be able to stand by his brother’s side and take it. The little shit might not always deserve it, but Dean would be there. But now Sam didn’t really need him anymore. 

Growing up Dean had been there for his little brother in all the ways that family should. After the car crash that had killed their mother, Dean had looked after Sam while John had dealt with the funeral arrangements. Dean had been lucky enough to escape the crash with barely more than bruises, and he doubted John really would ever forgive him for that either. But Dean had tried as hard as he could to make things right. For Sammy and for John. He might have only been a child, but he knew that John had never been quite the same after that night. Dean had tried his best to keep his Dad in a good place. And for a little while John had seemed to be alright. More distant than he had been before Mary died, but Dean couldn’t remember his 5 year old self really caring. It hadn’t been until they had been forced to sell the family home that John had really started to head downhill. Dean was 8 the last time he saw the place, but he still remembered, and he still missed it. As John got worse, Dean took care of Sam. It had been tough, moving around, but Dean knew that John had no choice. He had to work because they needed to eat. And if that meant John would come home and crash on the couch with some cheap whisky most nights, well that was all right with him. Nothing in the world came without consequences. And they were alright. Dean had Sammy to look out for after all, and if Sam was good, then things couldn’t be going too bad. Dean might have missed a bit of childhood, but he knew he was stronger for it. 

The water from the shower was growing cold, so Dean shut it off and toweled off. The afternoon sun was streaming through the sliding glass door at the back of his room, streaming across the carpet. Walking across the carpet to the closet, Dean pulled out a clean t-shirt and pulled it on. Grabbing a warn pair of jeans he got dressed. Most of his clothes were warn. That was beginning to be a problem for Dean actually. He had folded the pants he’d warn for the shift today, he knew he would wear them again tomorrow. But Dean would have to find a laundromat soon or risk running out of clothes for work. Damn.  
It was only about 3pm now so Dean figured he would have time to find a place and wash what needed doing. Glancing once over his apartment, Dean grabbed his dirty clothes and shoved them into his duffel bag. Then he made a mental list of what food he would need for the week ahead: a bag of potatoes, those were cheap, maybe an onion and some of those ready- mix dry soups, eggs, pasta sauce, Beer if he could afford it.  
Bag in hand Dean headed to outside, shoving the clothes -bag into the saddle bag of his bike, strapping down his helmet and pulling on his jacket. In the heat of the afternoon sun the jacket became uncomfortably hot in moments. And at low speeds on the stretch of road between this apartment and the highway, Dean felt sweat beading on his neck and dripping down his back. Uhg, so much for the shower. 

***

The drive took next to no time on the empty highway. And Dean would be lying if he said he’d been driving the speed limit. But on a clear day with hardly any traffic it was too tempting not to floor it and let the bike do all the work. Speeding down the highway with the fields along both sides, Dean had given serious thought to staying here, in this little town for a while. At first he had just been trying to escape his father, escape the shame of everything he had destroyed back in Kansas, and this town had been the first place he had found himself where no one knew him and no one would look for him. But now, watching the fields and woods flick by in his periphery, Dean had to admit he really liked it here.  
He had to circle the little side streets a few times before he found a laundromat in a little corner plaza near the outskirts of the town. The blue and white sign read Mike’s: Wash & Dry and it looked just like every other laundromat Dean had seen. Blue walls, white floor, a line of washers against one wall, dryers against the other. In the middle of the room was a long wooden counter and at the end a small booth. The girl in the booth looked up at the chime of the door as Dean pushed it open. 

Dean froze, Fuck. Staring back at him from the far side of the room was a face he knew far too well. Well damn, so much for a fucking new start, Dean thought to himself as he walked the length of the room. He hadn’t made it quite half way when she started talking.  
“Dean Winchester in the flesh. Wow, long time stranger.” Dean cleared his throat, “Hey Cassie, wow yeah it has been a few years. You’re looking good.” Dean shot her a sheepish smile, “How,”  
“Haha” Cassie laughed softly, “Save it Dean. I know you probably just passing through, but while you are here, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know I was kind of harsh last time we spoke, you were clearly going through something. I didn’t deserve to be lied to, but Dean I should have listened to you and I shouldn’t have shared without asking you. I thought when you told me, that it was what you wanted, help to get out. I am sorry, really.” 

Part of Dean wished that someone would please just walk through the door, come in and save him from this fucking bullshit conversation. The last time he had seen Cassie they were both 17, both idiots going through their own messed up lives. But back then Dean had a lot worse of a time dealing with his father. John had gone on a bit of a bender after he had lost his job at the motor-parts factory. Dean had tried to talk to someone, and that person had been his high school girlfriend, Cassie. Things had been said that Dean didn’t mean to say, and at the end of the day he had to lie through his teeth to child protective services to keep him and Sam from being put in Foster Care. He had blamed it all on Cassie, told anyone he could that he had lied to her so that she would sleep with him, sympathy was supposed to get you laid, right. John had been sober when the caseworkers showed up, thank god. But by the next week they had packed up and gone to live with Bobby. 

 

Dean ground his teeth together, almost 5 years but fuck it still hurt, “Yeah, well it wasn’t. I was totally up front with you, but you didn’t give me any warning. You didn’t ask.” He did not want to have this conversation, why the fuck did everyone always want to talk about the past. “And maybe you are right and a shouldn’t have lied, but Jesus Cassie what choice did I have, you put me…” at that moment the door swung open behind him and Dean shut his mouth. He was done. Looking Cassie in the eye Dean said, “Look, I am sorry. But can I just do my laundry, how much?” Cassie’s eyes never left his, and Dean wondered how long she had been waiting to say those words. He had hoped that he would never have the chance to find out. Finally Cassie sighed, “2.50$ for a wash, same for the dry, .50$ for the soap.” Dean slapped a five on the counter and dug around in his pockets for the 50 cents. He came up with 20. Shit. He dug around in the pocket of his jacket, he still had a 10$ bill in his wallet, but he really needed groceries and he knew already 10$ wasn’t going to keep him well fed until the end of the week. His face was starting to flush under Cassies’ stare when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. 

 

Turning Dean was face to face with those cool blue eyes, Castiel. His voice was low and calm as he spoke, “Dean, please allow me. If I had known you were low on funds I would have offered to pay you by the day for your first week. I do not have sufficient cash on me to pay you for your work today now, but please take this if you find you are short change.” His delicate hand held up a 5$ bill to Dean and Dean couldn’t think for just a moment. He snapped back to reality and said, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he meant, “ No, no thank you Castiel, really. I have my grocery money on me somewhere.” Digging in his pockets, he pulled out the crumpled 10$ bill he had been saving all week. Dean handed it to Cassie and shoved the 5 back in his pocket. Castiel eyed him for a moment then said, “Dean, please allow me to pay you this portion of your wages now, I feel it would be convenient for the both of us.” Dean was still searching for things to say when Cassie said “Castiel, what he is trying to say is “thanks”. Talking might not be his forte, but Dean appreciates it.” And with that Cassie plucked the 5$ out of Castiel’s hands and with the clicking of coins, returned 9.50$ to the counter in front of Dean. Grunting, Dean turned back to Cassie, grabbing the soap tablets she placed on the counter for him and then headed to the closest washer to the door. As he passed Castiel, Dean gave him a nod. He would never tell the other man, but he probably just saved Dean from a hungry week. 

Dean through his clothes in the laundry and then tossed in the soap. He started the load and headed for the door. He could hear Castiel and Cassie chatting conversationally in the background, but as he reached for the door handle, Cassie called back to him, “Dean, if you are planning on sticking around town for a while, we should catch up sometime.” Dean set his face into the perfect smile he had worked so hard on and turned back to the two people by the till. “Yeah, sure thing Cassie. You can show me where the best burgers are In this town and talk about old times or something. We can talk about it when I pick up my stuff. Later Cassie, Castiel.” And with that Dean escaped out the front door and into the afternoon sun.  
***


	4. The only fate assured to me is Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas and Dean both do a lot of thinking about the past and the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And i have not proof read this thing again. I have dyslexia and so i usually proof by listening to the text read aloud. I don't have time this week so if you notice anything, let me know!  
> Also i love it when you comment!! The more my ego is fed the more i write lol.  
> Be well  
> Casiopean  
> ps, Read the new tags

After about 30 minutes of walking Dean realized it was stupid. He had headed out during the hottest part of the day and if he turned around now he would be staring into the sun for the whole walk back. About 20 yards ahead Dean noticed a trail that split from the road and took a sharp left into the woods creeping along the side of the road. His pace quickened. He would walk through the woods, maybe find a way back to the other side of town and hopefully out of the sun. Plus, he still had over 2 hrs until his laundry was finished and he didn’t want to hang around with Cassie unless he had to. Wherever he was going, he just needed to find a quiet place to think. Taking the left, Dean entered the cool green woods. The path was rough, nothing special, just two sets of tire tracks where the underbrush was lighter and no trees grew. Perhaps it had been a service drive in times past, but now it was nearly part of the forest. The only signs of use were some still distinguishable tire – tracks in the soft ground. Briefly, he wondered if this was private property, but with no signs and no fences it was clear no one was being kept out. Dean picked his way down the trail, breathing in the cooler air under the trees and admiring dappled sunlight as he walked. The forest seemed to be mostly Birch and Maple, and with the new buds still bursting into life, Dean thought it might have been the greenest, most living place he had been in a while. 

After Cassie, after they moved out of the city, Dean had hated being in the country with every fiber of his being. It had been tough, being the reason they had to leave, but John sure as hell hadn’t made it easy on Dean. He had no reason to. So Dean had worked for Bobby whenever he was not in school, or studying with Sam. That year he had avoided most of John’s bad days. John was always better when they lived with Bobby, the other man usually tore John a new one if he got too obnoxious in front of Sam. Better Bobby than Dean, dad almost listened to Bobby. If Dean had told him to get a grip, Dean probably would have gotten his ass beat. Being in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere hadn’t been good for Dean. He never had many friends in Kansas City, but at least he could escape somewhere out of the house if Sam was out, get away from the constant tension and guilt he felt whenever he was in the same room as John. Dean always knew his dad had it rough growing up too, but he never seemed to have gotten over his past. Dean hated the thought he would grow into his father, but at 23 it was already looking like that was where he was going, being the fuck up that he was. 

 

Back then, when shit hit the fan with Cassie, it had not been totally John’s fault. Things had been going alright, Dean and Sammy were happy. Sam had been a god damn genius, ahead in all his classes and Dean had been so proud of him. He had spent all his time working at the local car wash and helping Sammy study. John had lost his job, and Dean knew that was rough on him, but he was also still getting over Kate.

John had met Kate Milligan when Dean was 10, and while she was not the love of his life, it had been good to see dad happy. Except Dean hated her. Hated that she was replacing mom, hated that Sammy thought she was wonderful, he even hated the way she looked at him. In the beginning John might have just been looking for company, Dean didn’t know how long they had been dating when he got home from school one day and Kate and John were sharing beers on the front porch. Kate had looked at the boys in a way that had set Dean’s teeth on edge, like she was trying to decide if they were worth the time it took to learn their names. It had gone pretty quick from there.  
First she was staying over nights and Dean would play his classic rock quietly so that Sammy couldn’t hear anything through the thin walls of the apartment. Then she had moved in. 6 months later she was pregnant and wouldn’t answer the boys unless they called her Mom. Dean really liked not being the one supposed to clean the house and make the meals, but fuck, he never would have wished for Kate Milligan to be anywhere near him and Sammy. Kate was a nurse and worked days, but after Adam, their half-brother, was born she took an extended leave from work. And after that the postpartum depression hit her hard. Dean hadn’t known that was what it was, not until years later. 

 

But Kate had gone from a friendly but hugely controlling parent substitute, to a ghost who could barely make a sandwich much less keep up with the house. She was always there for Adam though, making sure her baby boy was doing well. Dean had gone back to minding the house, doing the groceries, and trying to keep up the happy appearance of Family for Sammy. Before long the missing second income had taken it’s toll. John and Kate had started fighting, and both drank more than was good for them. John was almost never home, thank god, as he had to work long hours to keep the family a float. Kate took some odd jobs over the years, but mostly she held her baby boy close and watched re-runs of old sci-fi shows all day, maybe making supper every few days if Dean was lucky. It was John’s days off that Dean feared the most. He could remember one night, he was 12 years old, Sammy had just turned 9 and little Adam was only barely 2. He remembered Kate had made dinner that night and then she and John had opened a few beers. By 8pm they were screaming at each other and Sammy & Adam were scared. So Dean had taken them both up to his room, he turned on the night light, made sure they brushed their teeth, stuck a CD in the stereo he had saved up and bought himself, and turned the music on just enough that the voices down stairs were muffled into nonsense. Dean had put Sammy and Adam in his bed and sung along with Pink Floyd until the kids had drifted off to sleep. Then he had snuck out the door and sat in the hall listening to John and Kate. They had argued about sex, drinking, money, and Kate apparently thought John was cheating on her too. Dean fell asleep on the floor outside his door. At least he would know if the kids got up. 

This went on for years. The best days were when they both got drunk on opposite sides of the house. Kate would take her beer and her baby and sit on the couch watching star trek and John would use the small TV In their room to watch whatever game was on tv.  
Then one night they got into it really bad and John hit her. He had hit things before. He had whipped Dean a few times for misbehaving, but this time was different. Dean didn’t know what they were fighting about this time, he had just assumed it was more of the same. But then he heard Kate screaming, really screaming and Dean had gone to look. She was laying on the ground while John kicked her. He was Drunk, too drunk to land more than a few solid kicks before Dean had grabbed him. At 14 Dean was almost his father’s height, but he had no weight and John had shoved him off, Dean had hit his head pretty hard. Thank whatever god or angel was on John’s shoulder that night because instead of hitting Dean, John had grabbed the whisky off the kitchen counter as he fled out the back door. 

 

Kate had bruised ribs, Dean had walked her to the emergency room. Dean had no concussion but had a nasty swollen gash on his head that bled a lot and made him feel like his head might explode. Sammy had looked after Adam that night and the next day they had gone to school looking like the dead. When they got home that night Kate and Adam were gone. There was a note for John. The car was gone, so was a lot of the food, blankets and clothes. Dean and Sam were hungry that night but that was the least of their problems.  
So looking back, Dean knew that the thing with Cassie wasn’t her fault, what else should he have expected her to do, she was just trying to help. It wasn’t John’s fault either though, he was going through some serious shit, life never seemed to give his father a break. Dean should have kept his big mouth shut and keep to himself, and after that he did.

Lost in his memories, Dean nearly missed he log on the path ahead of him, tripping over the rotten mound as he walked with his head buried in thoughts. Landing hard on his hands an knees, Dean cussed aloud. 

Standing up, Dean looked around. He had been walking for almost 10 minutes now, and the trail had headed slightly back the way he had come, which was promising. Now ahead of him, Dean could see the an open space where the light poured in between the trees. Wiping his hands on his now stained jeans, Dean headed down the trail more carefully. As the trail opened up ahead of him Dean stopped, what he saw before him was truly beautiful.  
****  
Castiel was unhappy. At this point in his life he knew what made him happy and what made him unhappy & disagreeable. And this man named Dean definitely made him many of those things. The first time he had laid eyes on him as he walked into Carmenta that rainy Sunday morning, Castiel admitted he had been intrigued. He had met a lot of people in his life, but Dean Winchester was one of the only ones in recent memory Castiel could pick out with that look. The look was one Castiel knew, pleasant on the outside with a touch of humor or shyness, roiling on the inside. And after speaking with Dean for almost an hour, Castiel knew without a shadow of a doubt that the man was hiding. New in town, applying for a job he had no experience in, avoiding topics from his past. Castiel should know better than most what the face of a man escaping looked like. So Castiel had given Dean the job, not because he had the best resume, nor because Castiel was out of options, but because this man clearly wanted to get away from wherever he had been before, and Castel felt he should pay it forward. So he had given Dean the job, and so far he was not disappointed with the other man’s quality of work or mannerisms. But Castiel was still undeniably unhappy with Dean. Castiel knew many metaphors and idioms, he knew ancient myths and modern stories which discussed and demonstraited how you can show a man the way to salvation, to a better life, but you cannot make him follow that path. 

So Castiel was unhappy that Dean was so against his help, when clearly, he needed it. And Castiel knew a thing or two about not accepting help you think you don’t deserve, because he had been there too. So perhaps he was not unhappy with Dean, but unhappy that despite being able to see the other man struggling, Castiel himself was able to do very little to aid him. So Castiel was unhappy with himself. Back in his apartment, Castiel sat at the table, glossy photographs strewn before him. Flowers, Hummingbirds, crumbling buildings and trees growing up through the rooves of old sheds and barns. Many of the photos were good. None of them great. And that was another reason Castiel was unhappy with himself. All week he had been off. Distracted and unable to find what he was looking for out in nature. Photography usually gave him peace, along with some extra money. But this week had been dull. The natural beauty was all around but Castiel’s eyes just didn’t see it in the same light right now. He had to get his mind back to a good place for this weekend. He had engagement photos and a wedding to photograph this weekend and he needed to be professional. There were other reasons for why he was upset this week. The whole month of May usually posed a challenge for him. This may marked 3 years and Castiel didn’t feel he was progressing enough. His fingers drummed absently on the table as he sipped his coffee. 

The pictures continued to stare back at him, doing nothing to inspire him and more importantly, nothing to keep his thoughts from wandering. He thought back to his encounter with Dean this afternoon. If he was being honest with himself that was part of his current problem. His mood had begun well before he interrupted Dean and Cassie at the laundromat, but now he was definitely in a funk. It was just a shame. He hadn’t given it any conscious thought, Dean was his employee after all and Castiel had morals, despite what his family thought, but he would be lying to himself if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Castiel had thought that perhaps Dean swung that way, something about the way he acted. But after his conversation with Cassie, Castiel severely doubted that was the case. 

After Dean had left Castiel had asked, in what he hoped was a nonchalant unconcerned manner if Cassie had known Dean for a while. He had known Cassie for nearly a year, as he had been coming to Mike’s: Wash & Dry since he had moved to Wolfgrove. Castiel could tell that the woman wanted to talk but she hesitated. Finally, she had muttered, “Dean and I, we uh, Dated a while back. Back in highschool. Anyway, things happened, and it didn’t end on good terms. I was a mutual misunderstanding, but it made things rough with his family I think.” Castiel wondered, but he would not speculate on exactly what she meant. What was nearly definite in his mind after their chat was that Dean definitely dated women, and likely many of them.  
Castiel sighed, he just needed to let it go. Gabriel was coming this weekend and he didn’t want his broth getting the wrong idea, or god forbid worrying about his little brother. Gabe did that enough already and Castiel wondered if he could take much more of it. He did it out of love, Castiel knew, but it didn’t make it any less smothering. Gathering up his photos, Castiel decided he would try again later in the week. For the rest of the day he decided he would put Dean out of this mind and find Meg. Maybe they could debate some particularly infuriating political piece or watch a movie. She might not be the greatest person under the sun, but Meg and Castiel got along better than even he had expected. He headed out of the apartment, He would help her close the café and perhaps grab dinner with his friend. 

***  
Dean was smiling. He didn’t do that very often, not this kind of smiling. His walk had been good. And now, even after making his way back to the laundromat with dirt on his hands and mud on his shoes, he was still happy. Cassie was still behind the desk as he opened the door. She had put his laundry in the dryer and Dean had grabbed his duffle bag. Pulling open dryer number 6 he began to shove his clothes in. Shoot, no. Grabbing his laundry, he dumped it all on the table and began to fold. Shirts first then pants. Laying it carefully in the bad to avoid wrinkling them too much. 

Cassie was quiet. Every time Dean tried to casually glance in her direction she seemed as if she as about to say something. But she remained quiet until Dean was almost finished. As he began to zip the bag closed she said “So Dean. I know this is probably awkward for you. But before everything, we were good friends too. And if you actually wanted to hang out…” Dean wasn’t sure he knew what she was asking but he wanted to clear things up now, “ Look, Cassie, I really liked you back in high school, but forgiving and forgetting is not my strong suit and I, uh well I’m not looking for anything complicated right now, so...” 

At this Cassie turned flushed,” Jeeze, no Dean I, ah, I have a girlfriend actually. Really I was just asking if you wanted to talk, as friends. I imagine you don’t know too many people around here, but if you don’t want to its not problem.“ It was Dean’s turn to feel like an idiot. He had totally misread her There was no reason for someone like Cassie to be single, she had been the perfect girlfriend back then. Shit. Although Dean was glad to hear she had someone. He’d always known she was Bisexual, so the girlfriend part didn’t surprise him, but it just rubbed a bit of salt in the open wound of Dean’s messed up adulthood. He realized he had been quiet a little too long. Taking a breath he replied “Sure yea, I mean right now I’m a little short on funds, but now about some time next week. I, uh, ill come in again some time you are working, and we can sort it out.” Cassie gave him a look like she doubted he meant it, Dean wasn’t sure if he meant it either, but in the end she had given him a smile. “Alright Dean, see you around.” With that Dean had headed out, put his clothes in the bags on his bike and headed home. What a fucking day, he thought as he arrived back at his apartment. What a fucking weird ass Thursday.


End file.
